


Got Your Back

by Katzedecimal



Series: Touched [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, M/M, PTSD, Touch-Starved, compassion comes in many ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things can get hot on an investigation.  Sometimes, John can get triggered.  Sometimes, Sherlock has to get creative to keep John grounded in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Your Back

It had been a dark and bitter night. Investigating a museum heist had led to falling in a chip shop, tripping over a kerb and finally hiding behind a skip while the smugglers held a shoot-out with the police. _"No day is good when you have to smell rotten Chinese food,"_ John had grinned at his flatmate. Then a bullet had hit a transformer and plunged the whole street into darkness. 

_Dark. Rank. Cold. Gunshots. Screaming._

_Snipers in the darkness, trying to pick off the medics._

The memories had quickly thickened into flashbacks but John managed to keep from being overwhelmed, because he'd reached back and caught a hand. A hand he knew well. 

He swallowed, listening for movement in the darkness, and felt along the seams of Sherlock's glove. He felt the buttery texture of the leather, felt along the stitching and noted where it was beginning to wear. He felt along where the leather stretched over Sherlock's knuckles and around the pad of his thumb. 

The sound of shifting behind him made his heightened vigilance shriek but it was only Sherlock taking his glove off and sliding his hand back into John's. He swallowed again and let his thumb slide over Sherlock's knuckles. He could feel the scars there and traced over each one. There was a recent scar on the back of Sherlock's hand, that he had sutured months ago; he could feel that it had healed to a fine ridge, not yet sunken. He could feel the callouses and grooves left by years of playing the violin. Sliding along Sherlock's fingernails, he could feel the beginning of a hangnail and roughened cuticles from wearing nitrile gloves during his experiments. 

He stiffened again at another movement, relaxed when he felt Sherlock remove his scarf and drape it around John's neck. He didn't wrap it, but tucked it lightly under his chin, then drew the shorter man back against his chest and wrapped them both in his coat. John felt embarrassed and silly but he also knew he needed this to keep him grounded in London, to keep the flashbacks from overwhelming him or turning into hallucinations. He needed Sherlock's smell, he needed Sherlock's warmth, he needed the familiar feel of Sherlock's hands, he needed Sherlock-- ....licking his ear?

_That_ had never happened in Afghanistan. John tipped his head towards his chest, trying to stifle his giggles. "What.. are you doing?" he whispered.

"Your ears are cold."

"And your licking my ear is going to warm it up, is it?"

"Obviously," Sherlock worried the shell lightly between his lips. John tried not to think about how that would look. 

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the gun battle. There was a pause, then another crackle of exchange. Sherlock chose that moment to bite the ridge of John's ear then lick the spot rapidly. "Look I told you, we can't giggle at a crime scene," John hissed, giggling, "If they hear me, they'll work it out that we're here."

Sherlock shrugged and rested his chin on top of John's head, making John roll his eyes again and sigh. They listened while the officer in charge exchanged shouted words with the smugglers. Then Sherlock tipped his head and breathed a warm flow of air across John's other ear.

"Would you knock it off?" John giggled. His trousers were starting to feel tight.

"You're the one making noises, not me."

"I'm only making noise because of you, now stop it." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and felt him squeeze back. They listened. 

"They've got a hostage," Sherlock murmured. Right against John's ear, making him catch his breath. "There's a sniper up above us but with the dark and the angle, they won't get a good shot."

"No problem. If he comes forward just a little more, I can take it," John whispered, and reached back slowly for his service pistol. And stopped. And frowned.

"John, I appreciate your interest but is now really the time?"

And burst into mortified giggles. The thug turned, trying to spot the source of the sound, and John saw the sniper's laser sight trying to find the mark. He found his pistol and aimed. 

Two shots rang at the same time. One missed; the other found its target. The thug went down, screaming and clutching his leg, and the hostage spiralled away. 

" _Brilliant,_ John, that was amazing!"

John grinned up at his flatmate, barely able to keep from preening. "Ready when you are, then."

"I've been ready for months."

John Looked at him... then grinned, "Really? Try to keep up to me then." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and they raced away into the night.


End file.
